“Just start filling up his calendar with events in the southwest. Flights will be short and cheap, and it will give you both more opportunities to be in the same place at the same time. Oh! You know what? We have a signing in Topeka next weekend that Alexis’ former PA, Erica is putting on. Once Lustful got on an even keel, they started planning this one. Travis Leadwell just canceled on them at the last minute. I’ll bet they’d take Wyatt in a heartbeat to replace him.”
“That’s a great idea,” I said, just as my cell phone began to ring. I almost jumped out of my shoes when I saw the caller was the man himself. I quickly swiped the answer button.
“Hey, Wyatt, were your ears burning?” I said, raising a finger to Stacy who smiled broadly as she continued mixing the ingredients for the frosting while I stepped out of the kitchen.
“Hi, Clarisse. Is now a good time to talk?” Wyatt asked, sounding more hesitant than I’d ever heard before.
“Sure, I’m just over at Gage and Stacy’s house, watching Stacy try to play homemaker. Do you have something going on?”
“Yeah, I’m totally baffled by this calendar. I don’t even know how to add anything to it,” he said with an exasperated sigh.
“You don’t need to. That’s what I’m for, and I don’t need any surprises from you just dropping something on it and double-booking yourself for something, so stop right now. Speaking of which,” I paused, hoping upon hope he’d agree. “I was just talking to Stacy about a signing she and Gage are doing in Kansas this weekend. It turns out Travis Leadwell backed out at the last minute. How would you feel about replacing him? The same company who arranged the Lustful signing last weekend is in charge of this one.”
“Uh, sure, I guess I could. I don’t have anything going on right now.”
“Do you have enough books and swag to do it?” I asked, another sneaky idea popping into my head.
“I think so. I don’t have a complete count of everything, but I can start on that today.”
“No, you need to keep writing. You’re on a deadline for a reason. I’ll catch a flight out to you tomorrow. I’ll sort your stuff, get it boxed and sent to the venue ahead of us,” I said firmly. I’d turn this opportunity into a whole week together. Maybe I could achieve my ends with that much time.
“You can pick up and just leave like that?” he asked incredulously. “Don’t Gage and Stacy need you for this signing?”
“Of course, I can leave. They’ve got these things down to a science, and since they have each other, they really don’t need me at their table. I’ll pop in on them and make sure they don’t need anything from time to time, but you attending this signing was actually Stacy’s idea. I’ll email you my itinerary later tonight.”
“Thanks, Clarisse. I’m going to have to give you a raise before the month is out.”
“Don’t worry. I take some payment in trade,” I replied with a flirty lilt. If he only knew the form of compensation I had in mind. That might be pushing the skank envelope, but no one knew that but me. I’d already made peace with the fact I’d do whatever it took to get what I wanted. Yet again, it didn’t occur to me my whole approach was the exact opposite of being submissive.
* * *
The next morning, after dropping Wheezy off at Rae’s house to cat-sit, I was on my way to Albuquerque bright and early. Wyatt was going to pick me up, and I’d spend the next four days sorting and organizing his shit before we moved on to Topeka. Susan may have done a lot for him, but she hadn’t been local, and she’d kept most of his inventory at her place, just shipping everything to him in one giant box when she left for Abu Dhabi. He had absolutely no idea what he did and didn’t have on hand. By the time I was done, he wouldn’t want me to leave.
I was nervous, no two ways about it. I’d have Clarisse in my home for the better part of a week. I tried to pretend I didn’t know why I was so nervous. She was my assistant. It’s not like I didn’t run into dozens of women, many of them attractive, every day in my regular life. I never felt compelled or tempted to turn it into something more. Why should one tiny little woman matter so much? Was I just starved for attention after my self-imposed exile and admitted celibacy? That had to be it. She was a drink of water in the desolate wasteland that had become my sex life.
Deciding I should keep things as professional as possible—and frankly, reducing my stress level about having her so close to me—I booked a room for her in a nearby hotel. It wouldn’t be as convenient as having her here and potentially less fun, but I was determined to keep my promise to myself. Better safe than sorry—even though she didn’t fawn over me like a lovesick puppy, stroking that part of my ego that had gotten me into trouble in the past. I wouldn’t take any chances. Maybe I needed to go out and find a girlfriend somewhere to keep me in line. In my many hours of introspection in the aftermath of my debacle, I’d reached the conclusion I’d merely been lonely. Writing is an awesome job with so many perks, but the one downside to it is you do it alone. I needed a social life, but I’d shunned the idea before because it would take away from the time I could spend writing. What a vicious cycle.
When I picked Clarisse up from the airport the following morning, every well-intentioned thought nearly flew out of my head. I’d never seen a woman make a tight tee, leggings, long sweater, and Ugg boots look so good. Her sable hair was piled in a small, messy top-knot on her head, and she wore very little makeup, yet looked as radiant as could be.
“Come,” she said, leading me out of baggage claim with just one small wheeled suitcase in tow behind her. “I woke up late this morning and had to make a mad sprint out of the house. I need coffee. Real coffee, not the shit they serve in those tiny cups on the airplane.”
Amused, I followed her as if she knew where she was going. She pulled up short when she got to the curb.
“Uh, where’s your car?” she finally asked as I laughed.
“Just keep going straight to the parking structure. I managed to get a good spot close to the front. We’ll have you at a Starbucks in no time.”
“Thank baby Jesus,” she muttered as I finally had the chance to take her case from her and dragged it the rest of the way to my car, a luscious red, convertible Mustang that was my pride and joy.
“This is your car?” she sputtered. “Fuckin’ A. This is like my dream car.”
She hopped into the passenger seat as soon as I unlocked the door. I watched in the side-view mirror as she nestled herself in the butter-soft leather bucket seat as I tossed her suitcase into the trunk. I had to give myself a mental slap when I caught myself musing over how adorable she was. I rounded the car and slid into the seat next to her. The engine instantly purred like a big cat when I pushed the start button.
“This is fantastic,” she chortled. “I’ve always wanted a Mustang, a convertible no less! You have to let me drive it.”
The pleading, yet playful look in her eyes as she laced her hands together and clutched them to her chest in faux supplication made my stomach flip. Down tiger. She’s here to whip you into shape, not the other way around.
“Sure, you can take a spin whenever you like. In fact, I may have you run a few errands this week, package drop-offs at the post office, and what not. For now, though, buckle up. It’s about an hour drive from here to my house, but I bet you we make it in forty-five minutes or less.”
“Pedal to the metal all the way, Wyatt!” she squealed in glee. Clearly, someone had a taste for speed. I wondered how far her sense of adventure went.
As it turned out, after we’d gotten her not one, not two, but three Venti Americanos, we were stuck in traffic. There was an accident on I-25, so we didn’t get to my house for another two hours. Normally, I hated being stuck in traffic—it was like having bamboo shoots shoved under my fingernails—but this time, I didn’t mind at all. Clarisse was good company, chattering all the way there. I learned she was from Sheboygan, Wisconsin, had been working for Gage for about three years and loved her job. I’d heard rumors about him having a bona f
ide stalker, so I asked about it. It was the only time she faltered in the conversation. Upon learning Gage’s stalker had been a member of her family, I didn’t blame her. I might have concealed that detail as well, lest anyone think I was a weirdo, too. I was impressed by her honesty and transparency. It made me feel trusted because that tidbit hadn’t reached the gossipy masses on social media.
“Boy, you’re a real lead foot,” she said as we pulled into my driveway. She looked at her watch, raising an eyebrow. “I really should have put some stakes on this bet. I would have made a killing.”
“Too late now, buttercup. You’ll just have to be on your toes next time,” I said, exiting the car to open her door. She was out of the car before I even got close.
“This is your house?” she asked, shielding her eyes from the sun as she took in my average, single story tract home.
“Yeah, don’t you like it?” I asked, for the first time conscious of whether anyone would be impressed or not.
“I do!” she replied enthusiastically. “I expected some big place with tons of room you didn’t need like Gage. His house suits him now that he’s a family man, but before that, I thought it was silly. He spent most of his time in either his office or bedroom. A one-bedroom apartment would have served him just as well and much cheaper to clean. Now, get me inside because I have to pee like mad after all that coffee.”
“On it,” I said, hurrying to the door. I’d barely twisted the key before she pushed past me and ran straight into the house. “Down the hallway, first door on your left!”
The shuffling sound of her rubber-soled boots on my tiled floor made me chuckle under my breath. I was surprised she’d made it the whole two hours in the car. Before long, she returned to the living room where I still stood, breathing a sigh of relief.
“I wasn’t sure I was going to make it.”
“I could have stopped along the way, you know. All you had to do was say something.”
“It didn’t really hit me until I got out of the car,” she said, looking around. “You do have a coffee maker here, don’t you? I should warn you, I drink it pretty much all day long.”
“If you have any more, you’re going to be more jittery than a cross-bred teacup poodle,” I began, quietly shutting my mouth as she shot me a death glare.
“Trust me, you want me to have the coffee.”
“I do. I really do. There’s a Keurig in the kitchen,” I pointed over her left shoulder. She beamed at me radiantly.
“Perfect. Okay, so what would you like to work on first? Where’s your office?” she asked, looking around the somewhat messy living room.
“I, uh, don’t have one,” I admitted, pointing to the coffee table where my laptop and a few scattered papers lay. “This is command central.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me. No wonder you’re so disorganized. Tell me you have a spare room?”
“I have two of them. One is completely empty, other than my guitar and an amplifier. Oh, and an armchair.”
“Then that’ll be the one. You don’t have a desk?” she looked at me, clearly already knowing the answer. I just shook my head.
“Then today our goal is to get you set up in a real space where you can work. I’m sure hanging out on the sofa with your laptop is how you’re used to doing things, but I think you’ll find yourself much more productive if you have a designated area to write in.” I opened my mouth to object, but she held up her hand. “Don’t worry, you can still bring your laptop out here and get comfortable when you want to. You can even write here if it really is better for you, but all the business stuff? Trust me, you want that in one space.”
“Okay,” I said slowly, wondering how a woman as little as she was could be so bossy. She was like a tiny dictator. She just needed a military uniform.
“I suppose the other room is your playroom?”
“My what?” I asked, confused.
“You know, where you keep all your goodies and gadgets.”
“Uh, no. It’s just a guest room. You know, bed, nightstand, dresser,” I replied as her face fell. “Why would you think I have one?”
“No reason,” she mumbled. “I suppose that’ll be my room while I’m here.”
“No, I reserved a room for you at a nearby hotel.”
“Hotel?” she asked, her voice faltering, her lower lip pushing out a bit.
“I figured you’d want your privacy,” I said though every fiber of me was screaming to show her to my room.
“I just thought I’d be staying here,” she said slowly before donning a tight smile. “Hopefully, the hotel is close. I don’t want to lose too much time running back and forth every day.”
“It’s just a mile or two away. You could even walk if you wanted to.” I couldn’t help but laugh at the shocked look on her face. “Don’t worry, Clarisse. I’m only kidding.”
“Ha. Don’t quit your day job. Let’s hit the road, we’re wasting time.”
* * *
By the end of the day, I really had something akin to a real command central. She’d talked me into a giant, horseshoe-shaped desk, a new PC and printer, a high-tech, leather desk chair with a footrest, and another Keurig. I tried to tell her I didn’t drink nearly as much coffee as she did, but she insisted I needed it for those late-night writing sprints I did sometimes or for times when she visited. Secretly hoping she’d be visiting often, I bought the coffee maker without a fight. She insisted on “breaking it in” as soon as we got back to my place. I began to wonder if she ever slept. I didn’t see how she could, what with caffeine in her veins rather than hemoglobin.
I was completely wiped out watching her set up my new office. I learned quickly I needed to just stand back and let it happen. So, after doing the ‘manly’ work of assembling the desk and chair, I sat back, plucking the strings on my guitar while I watched her go to work. I was a little afraid when she finally called me over.
“Here is where you’ll find your calendar,” she said as she opened a window that showed my entire week at a glance. She’d scheduled nearly every minute of my day—from my preferred writing times to breaks to eat, sleep, and relaxation. There were several social media parties she’d signed me up for, plus a few in-person events I’d told her about.
“Wow, I can’t believe you’ve done so much in such a short time. Is there anything left for you to do?” I said, completely boggled at her administrative prowess.
“Oh, honey, this is just stage one. Judging by your poor time management tracking, I’m sure your bookkeeping is an even bigger nightmare.”
“Bookkeeping?” I asked, my voice cracking at the end. “Um, I just keep an envelope with receipts in it. I think Susan used to keep a computer file somewhere for electronic invoices.”
Clarisse shook her head in frustration, clearly impatient with how I’d conducted the business end of my career, which I had to admit was poorly.
“I’m going to need to get ahold of Susan at some point tomorrow and get this all sorted out. What’s the time difference between here and Abu Dhabi? Does she even have phone service?”
“She does. She let me know when she arrived that she was safe. I think it’s a twelve-hour time difference, so you may want to wait until tomorrow night.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll make do with what we have here. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go back to the hotel, get a drink, and pour myself a bubble bath.”
I found myself opposed to her leaving so early. It was only six o’clock, and though we’d been at it all day, I wanted her to have that drink with me.
“Why don’t we go to this local pub, I go to sometimes, for that drink, then I’ll drop you at the hotel? It’s a quiet place where we both can unwind. Today was hectic,” I said, not giving my brain time to kick in and tell me it was a bad idea. She seemed to think about my words for a beat too long, then just when I thought she’d decline, she surprised me.
“Okay, show me your spot. I could use more than a cheap glass of wine.”
Doing a mental fist pump, quickly followed by a face slap, I led the way out to the car.
I indulged in the sense of triumph I felt all the way to the pub. I’d been disappointed he’d booked me a hotel room. I was so much further from my goal than I’d thought, but then when he suggested we go to the pub before taking me to the hotel, I realized maybe I wasn’t quite that far. It meant he wanted to spend more time with me, right? Or maybe he just wanted a drink too and doesn’t like drinking alone. I shoved the thought to the back of my mind. Maybe with some liquid courage between us, I might be able to push the envelope a little.
When we got to the bar, there wasn’t even a sign signifying it was a business. It looked a little run down, but when I made mention to Wyatt, he just laughed and assured me they had not only good booze but good food, too. Considering we hadn’t eaten since a quick lunch at a mall food court, I wasn’t surprised when my stomach quietly growled in response.
The interior was cozy—tan walls with brown brick patches of mortar looking like it’d oozed out when it set and red leather booths ringing the room. There was a massive walnut bar, a jolly bartender behind it. His Irish accent rang out when he shouted a greeting as we walked through the door.
“Hey, Wyatt! It’s been a while! I see you’ve brought us a new friend to torment!”
“Hi, Patrick,” Wyatt replied with a little chuckle. “This is Clarisse. Take it easy on her. You don’t want to rile this one. She’s got a mouth on her and isn’t afraid to give as good as she gets.”
How Wyatt had been able to discern these things from the brief time we’d spent together was a mystery to me. Was Rae right? Was I really too bossy to be a submissive? No, I knew that was what I wanted. I needed to practice being more demure. Otherwise, Wyatt wouldn’t even consider training me. I tried my best to muster up a blush and looked down shyly.
“Don’t believe a word he says,” I quipped despite myself. “I’m as harmless as a butterfly.”
Twist Tied Page 5
